The Way of the World
by alternaterealityyaknow
Summary: Set after the events of S5 Ep7. Just as Robert and Cora reconcile their marriage Cora receives news from an old American friend who is notorously known as the most scandalised women in Europe. Much to Roberts displeasure she and her daughter Cecily are invited to Downton for a stay of un-agreed length bringing with them the question of what love truly means in the 20th century.


The Way of the World

"The second post my Lord," Carson held out the dish of letters for Lord Grantham to take. Unusually there were quite a few this evening, no doubt from places scattered up and down the country. Carson was glad of this, in his own little way; being a stout traditionalist he often feared the demise of the letter when the telephone was becoming such a frequently used device.

"Thank you Carson," Robert collected up the letters to peruse them as he stood. He could guess many of the correspondents by the writing on the envelopes; a message from a tenant, a rather large one from Murray and a couple from London acquaintances. However, the last boasted an elaborate, flourishing hand that he did not recognise at all, and therefore it didn't surprise him to read that he was addressed not to him, but to Lady Grantham.

Robert nodded his head to Carson to tell him that he was dismissed, and looked around for Isis. His gut dropped as he remembered that she was no longer there. Fighting back the unruly sensation of tears he proceeded into Cora's sitting room with the intention of giving her her letter so that he could retire and attend to his own.

"The second post just arrived," he said as a way of announcing himself. She was sat on the settee in the middle of the room embroidering something or other; such occupation baffled Robert but he supposed the ladies had to have something to occupy their time, and he freely admitted that he held an admiration for the skill.

"Oh," Cora replied, immediately looking up from her work. Robert was dismayed to see the redness in her eyes from the previous nights lack of sleep. It did nothing to detract from her beauty that could never be altered in his eyes but it acted as another reminder of the loyal pet that he had lost. "Was there anything for me?"

"Yes, this letter," Robert removed the said object from the bottom of the pile and placed it in her waiting hand. "Any idea who it is from? I don't recognise the hand." He wouldn't normally have inquired so closely as he knew his wife kept many correspondents as part of her role as Countess of Grantham, yet affairs of late had made him more cautious of her, her needs and who she chose to involve in her life.

Cora turned the envelope over in her hands to study the script on the front, she bit her lip and shook her head in dismissal, "I'm afraid I can't tell without opening it. How bizarre."

"As long as it's not another admirer ready to _burst_ from your beauty." The words had tumbled out before Robert had even time to consider them; he had meant it as a joke, but out loud he realised the cruel sarcasm that rang through his tone.

Cora didn't shy away from his outburst. He supposed it was her American blood. But as her eyes locked onto his he could see the hurt streaming through them, the disappointment that he hadn't yet let the incident with Simon Bricker go.

"Robert," she said; her voice armoured with a steely edge.

But he jumped before her shaking his head profusely and moving to sit next to her so that he could take her hands in his, "I'm sorry Cora, I'm sorry. You don't deserve that."

"No, I don't," she replied, not breaking contact with him, " I wish more than anything that we could just put that whole sorry night behind us. I certainly have. There is nothing I would like more than to forget it."

"As would I," Robert said, carefully massaging the top of his wife's hands, "but I am afraid my memory will continue to torture me with it for some time to come. Although that doesn't excuse what I said; I'm just not myself today…" He broke his gaze on her and looked away; he could feel the tears staging another advance.

Immediately Cora understood to what he was referring and gripped his hands tighter in her own, "Oh my dear," she breathed, looking tenderly at her grief stricken husband. There had only been three other times in their marriage when she had seen him in this much distress; the death of his father, their darling Sybil and poor Matthew. Of course he had been upset at the death of his other dogs, but she had sensed that Isis had been particularly special to him. He had doted on her far more than the others and she had been his constant companion in everything. She smiled to herself as she recalled him insisting to her that they should take her on their last visit to Scotland. Of course, at the time, she had told him he was being ridiculous.

"I feel so silly," Robert said quietly, "so darn silly."

"You loved her. There is nothing silly in that." Cora reached up to caress his face, "I think it is an admirable quality to be able to love so truly."

"Even a dog?" He scoffed, and Cora was pleased to see his characteristic look of bemusement.

"Yes, even a dog," Cora smiled with him, "_especially_ a dog."

"She was a great companion," Robert admitted, "but I suppose it is the nature of things."

"And she did live a good, long life," Cora added.

"Yes she did," Robert looked back at Cora. The extent of her compassion never failed to surprize. Even now when they were speaking of a dog that in recent months, although he would not care to admit it, he had probably paid more attention to than her. The guilt flooded through him. Bricker's parting words rang through his head as they had done regularly since that awful night. The picture of him and _her_ stood so close together, in private, next to their bed. He felt his hands tremble in hers. Cora felt it and tightened her hold. He caught her eye again and her concerned gaze. He couldn't tell if she knew what he was truly thinking; she had always had a way of reading him, and helping him see sense where it mattered, but since that night that certainty had been clouded.

"Thank you for last night. For allowing her to stay. It meant a lot."

"Nonsense," Cora replied, "It wouldn't have been right any other way." Her eyes glistened with sincerity, and Robert could not help but feel his heart stir, the way it had the previous evening when she had suggested lying Isis down between them.

"I meant what I said…last night." Robert looked at her, hoping to express his own sentiments of tenderness. "I…" He stumbled over the words as he always had, "I do love you, oh so much." He bought her hand to his lips as he said it to cover up his embarrassment.

"Oh Robert," Cora caught his chin and forced him to look back up at her, "I know my darling, I know." She leaned towards him and kissed him gently on the lips. "I love you too, and always, always will."

They sat still, hands entwined, not wanting to break the moment, each lost in the other…

"Well," Robert said eventually, as his wife continued to study his face, "I suppose I had better get on. I need to talk to Dales to arrange a spot to have Isis buried."

"Were you thinking of anywhere in particular?"

"I thought maybe down by the lake if it wasn't inconvenient, she did like to walk down there and play in the water."

Cora squeezed his hand, "when you do it would you like me to come?...I'd like to be there." She was pleased the see the edges of a smile around her husbands saddened expression, and he nodded gently, "I would like nothing more," he said softly kissing her hand again before departing the room.

Cora watched after him as the door closed. She was ashamed that it had taken another man to remind them of their devotion to one another, yet she was immensely pleased to feel very much in love again; she was sure they would need it with the world shifting more and more around them everyday. She turned her attention back to the fallen letter in her lap and with an etch of curiously reached for her letter opener. The paper inside was filled with the same flourishing scrawl. She did feel as though she should recall it; it had the essence of a long-lost friend. Impatiently she flicked to the end where it was signed, most fittingly she laughed as she saw the name; 'mistress Marie Stewart'.


End file.
